Wow. Not only has the best title already been written, but apparently the best t-shirt has already been designed, too:

As Good as It T-Shirt Gets

Could 2009 be the year that all forms of everything attain perfection? What’s next? Could this year see the creation of the best pet name, the best mime routine, the best excuse for staring at boobs? I’ll keep you in the loop!

I bought a t-shirt at the Goodwill once upon which someone had ironed the words “I’m sorry your cat died,” with the exact same letters and t-shirt as this guy’s shirt. It sat in my drawer for about 5 years. I never found occasion to wear it, and I eventually sold it to a resale shop for a lot more money than it was worth, along with a shirt I had made that said “Penis Pasta.” People will wear anything on their chests.

This morning I was at Starbucks waiting for my Venti coffee and breakfast sandwich. (This will give you an immediate idea of how desperately sad my morning has been.) As I was leaning against the wall of shame, drifting off into space, a man walked up and began staring at my chest. I had my headphones on, listening to a podcast of On the Media because Bob Garfield and Brooke Gladstone are str8-up hustlaz who got tha inna scoop on media tomfoolery 4 realz.

Yes, this is all true, and I’m not proud. I was in Starbucks ordering a Venti coffee and listening to a freaking RECORDING … not even live radio, but a RECORDING that I had SPECIFICALLY SOUGHT OUT … of an NPR podcast on my, yes, I admit it, my IPHONE. My god. I think I’m the enemy! And yet every time I see the display of Starbucks CDs I scoff and say, “what kind of poser would buy a CD at Starbucks?” Sigh. Yuppie ain’t nothing but a number, though, right?

Anyhoo, at the Starbucks, listening to On the Media, dude walks up and stares intently at my chest. At first I thought he was maybe going to punch me, because that happens a lot, but then I realized that I was wearing this t-shirt:

Meat Is Murder

He said something that I didn’t hear because I was totally rocking out to media analysis. I slipped my headphones off and said, “What’s that?” which is what I always say, because for some reason it’s a much nicer thing to say than just, “What?”

“That’s a cool shirt,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s handy if you need to butcher a cow on the spur of the moment.”

“We’ve all been there,” he said, knowingly. And something in his eyes told me he meant it.